Mr Darcy's Bathing Beauty
by austenhomegirl
Summary: Just a bit of smut involving everybody's favorite couple behaving naughty and way out of character. Mr. Darcy tries to do something sweet for his bride-to-be and the results are far more satisfying than he imagined they'd be...


A/N: This is just a bit of smut involving Darcy and Elizabeth before their wedding. One-shot. I always thought Darcy residing at Bingley's bachelor pad as an independent (and probably _experienced_) man during his engagement opened up a world of opportunity for, uh…liberties to be taken with Elizabeth. Had to explore the possibilities and get it out of my system! If pre-marital sexual activities between these characters will offend you, please don't read. Rated M for a reason! I don't own Pride and Prejudice or any of the characters, yada, yada. Enjoy!

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A/N 2: Hey folks! Thanks to requests from some awesome people, I've just added a sequel for this story. To read it, go to my page and check out "Beauty Bathes Again."

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Fitzwilliam Darcy stood frozen in place while a million different thoughts whirled through his mind. Foremost among those thoughts was the question of how one uncharacteristically romantic impulse could have landed him in so inconceivably improper a situation.

It had started when the Bennet girls answered an invitation to dinner with their fiancés and Bingley's family at Netherfield earlier in the night. Darcy had been away at Pemberly for a week, making preparations for the estate to receive a new mistress in three weeks time, when he would be wedded to Elizabeth. He was so excited to see his beloved intended that when the carriage had pulled up carrying her and her sister he had nearly thrown Bingley to the side to be the first to the curb. She alit, wearing a simply patterned white muslin gown beneath a wool overcoat thick enough to keep out the winter chill. Even in such modest, unfashionable garb she was the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance.

He had been by her side as much as possible that evening, dining next to her during supper, taking his tea next to her during the time in the parlor, and partnering with her for a few rounds of whist. It was not the alone time he wanted after a week away from her, but time spent in the warmth of her presence was always better than being anywhere else.

He had been acutely irritated when, in the middle of dinner, he found himself fighting off fatigue. He had only just arrived from Pemberly earlier in the day after two days and one full night of travel. He had been too eager to see Elizabeth to spend an unnecessary night in an inn and insisted his coachman drive on through the night before. He had slept only fitfully in the carriage. Once the evening rolled around, he was feeling the effects of that decision. Getting through dinner had been a struggle, even with the considerably lively company of his fiancée. After that, staying alert only became harder. He tried to fight off the feelings of sleepiness, determined to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of this time with Elizabeth. When Bingley had called upon her for some music, he accompanied her to the piano to turn the pages for her as she played. As she stood rifling through the sheet music, she glanced up at him with astute eyes.

"Mr. Darcy, I do believe you're exhausted."

He shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other. "Indeed, you are mistaken, Madame."

She raised one delicate eyebrow at him, pursing her pretty mouth in a disapproving line.

He scowled back at her in such a way that usually worked on lessers; which of course, had no effect on _her_. Giving in an inch, he stated, "Perhaps I am a bit tired."

She nodded, acknowledging that was as much a confession as she could expect from her proud fiancé. "Why do you not retire to your room, then?" She suggested sweetly as she gracefully took her seat.

She looked at him innocently, but he detected the determination in her eyes of a woman bent on seeing to her man's well being.

"That will not be necessary," he replied as she began playing. Seeing the raised eyebrow again, he moved behind her to position himself to turn the pages. Responding to the silent provocation, he argued, "I have only just returned. I do not wish to say goodnight to you just yet."

"But my dear," she whispered distractedly as she continued to play, "have you not noticed how heavily it snows out? It is likely Mr. Bingley shall insist Jane and I stay the night rather than return home in a snow storm. Which means you shall most certainly see me on the morrow, bright and early at breakfast."

Looking out the window for the first time, he noted she was right. It was snowing quite heavily. He had grunted in response, and at the end of her song Bingley had wasted no time in proving her prediction correct.

"Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, I cannot help but feel you ought to stay the night here at Netherfield. The snow does not look to let up and my conscience would simply not rest letting you go all the way home in such a flurry." He smiled pointedly at his dear Jane, and she blushed in return.

It was all decided very quickly then, and Darcy had felt much better about retiring early. Whispering a sentimental goodnight to his future wife, he had bid the others goodnight and quit the room. There he had ordered a tub filled and sat in it, brightening somewhat. As some of his energy returned, his thoughts had drifted to Lizzy and he began to regret quitting her so soon.

That was when that unprecedented attack of romantic whimsy set in. Once he was free from his tub, he had taken it upon himself to pen her a sweet letter saying all the things he hadn't been able to say to her earlier. Then he had slipped into the hall and crept down to where he knew her room would be. It was the same room she was always given when she had to stay over at Netherfield for any reason. Before he reached her door he crept to the banister to listen for the sounds below. He could still hear her playing at the piano in the parlor. Confident she was not within her room, he then slipped in to lay the note on her bed.

Walking over to her bed, he'd laid the piece of paper down on the freshly made sheets. He had then stood there, looking over the bed, imagining her in it. What did she look like with her hair down, wearing nothing but a nightdress? He had grown aroused thinking that in just three weeks time, he would know. He would know that and more.

That was when a noise and movement had caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. The noise sounded like the gentle lapping of water. Turning towards the opposite side of the room, his breath caught at what he saw. There sat his Lizzy, in a bathtub, wet as a fish, and _in all her glory_!

Instinctively, he had ducked behind the bed. And that was where he cowered now, desperately trying to figure out what to do. She had not seen him, he knew that much. She sat there humming softly and scrubbing her upper arms. He squeezed his eyes shut, mortified at the situation. How had this happened?! He was sure she was still downstairs playing on Charles's rather grand pianoforte. In a flash he puzzled it out. That must have been Caroline Bingley, or even Louisa Hurst playing down below in the parlor. For whatever reason, Lizzie had decided to follow his lead and retire early to bed and had been shown to her room while he was still within his_. Why, with all of this unfolding as it just did, did I have to choose tonight of all nights to be romantic, _he inwardly yelled.

He looked at the door, wondering if he could make a mad dash for it. But no, she would surely see him, for she was not facing away from the door. Nor could he announce himself; that was even more out of the question! Neither of them would ever live down the mortification. He hated the idea of putting her in such a humiliating position. _I had better find a solution post-haste, for I know not what temptations I shall give into otherwise!_

Indeed, as he sat there with nothing to do and nowhere to safely move to, it was all he could do not to watch her bathe. He fought it and fought it, but eventually, to his own disgust, his eyes turned in her direction. He felt his mouth drop open at the sight. Her smooth creamy shoulders rose above the rim of the tub, slick and shining. Suds and water were pooling on her delicate collarbone. Her beautiful thick dark hair was wet and hanging all the way down into the water, where the tips of it floated on the surface. She must have washed it just before he came in. He imagined it smelled like lavender.

He watched, his pulse pounding in his ears and his throat constricting as she lifted one shapely leg out of the water to scrub it. She lifted it high up and pointed it, then brought it down again repetitively as her soapy hands slid over its length. _My god, she's flexible_, he gulped. His groin began to pull painfully as he watched her do the same with the other leg. When she was finished, she lay back quietly for a few moments.

Because of the height of the rim of the tub, he could see nothing below her graceful collarbone and her knees as they peeked over the water. He said a silent prayer of thanks for that, for he knew not what he would do if the rest of her form were revealed to him. But just as he finished his prayer, God apparently saw fit to test him. Because right then, mercy help him, _she stood up_.

His eyes widened as he took in her sweet, womanly shape, dripping wet with suds of soap still clinging to it in all the right places. His worshipful, disbelieving gaze swept over her as she moved to grab a towel. As she twisted this way and that to dab at every delicate body part, he took in every beautiful inch of her. She was like a goddess. Her figure was lush, with the most marvelous set of ample, pink-tipped breasts swaying gracefully atop a flat but curvy midsection. Her bottom was as plump and rich as a piece of fruit. She was absolutely succulent; the most erotic thing he had ever seen. And between her legs…he gulped. What he would give to bury himself there! Before he could stop himself, he let out a helpless whimper. She froze.

His eyes widened as he realized he had been heard. He ducked his head again, but it was too late.

The response he received, however, was anything other than what he expected.

"Well, are you going to come out from your hiding place or not, Mr. Darcy?"

He could hardly believe his ears. It took him a minute to respond by braving a peek above the bed. She was still nonchalantly toweling off, not looking in his direction. He almost began to think he had imagined what she said until she looked directly at him with an impudent, knowing smile. His breath caught for the umpteenth time that evening. She knew he was there?! The whole time? And she wasn't angry - she was smiling at him? It couldn't be!

He very hesitantly rose up from his hiding place and put his hands up in a placating fashion. "My love," he started, "this is not how it looks."

"And what exactly could it be when you are caught watching me bathe whilst hiding behind my bed?" she asked. Her tone was hard to place. She did not sound angry. She also did not sound embarrassed. She sounded incredulous. And almost…amused? That could not be.

"I came in here only to leave you this letter," he held up the object in question. "I believed you to be downstairs yet with the others, otherwise I never would have just walked right in, I assure you! I did not see you when I entered and by the time I was aware of you I was too petrified to say a word. And then I knew I could not expect to make it out of here without being caught, so..." He looked down and gave a weak shrug. "I stayed."

As he spoke, he reminded Elizabeth greatly of a child caught making mischief and expecting an upbraiding. He looked not only contrite, but utterly mortified. His face was red to the tips of his ears. She found it immensely endearing.

Looking up at her and seeing a curious expression on her face, he said, "Truly, Elizabeth, I am very sorry."

She smiled at him as she flipped her hair over to one shoulder and began to towel it off. "It is fine, my love. I believe you."

That was it. That was all she said. She continued to dry her hair and look at him with the most provoking expression on her face.

_Be careful, my love. You know not what you play at._

His eyes roved down her still-naked body. "You do realize you are still unclothed, my love?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

She looked down innocently. "Am I? Oh, dear. I suppose it is fortunate then that you are my future husband and would have been seeing me eventually anyway. This would have been quite an embarrassing situation otherwise."

Winking at him, she finally wrapped her gorgeous body up in her towel and walked over to the vanity. Seating herself there, she commenced to brush her long hair. Mesmerized by the sight as well as her unassuming, sensual attitude, he moved to watch her from the corner of the bed. He felt so strange; not at all like himself. He knew he should not be here in her room like this. What had happened was bad enough, but at least that was a genuine mistake. For him to stay with her in such an intimate manner now that he'd been exposed was inexcusable. Yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. _She's like a siren_, he thought hazily.

She continued to brush her hair, humming to herself again. She was acting like he wasn't even there, and instead of being offended, he was enticed. Enticed, excited, and incredibly aroused. As she reached for a jar of cream to spread on her leg propped up on the vanity, he stood to stand behind her. Their eyes met in the mirror, and she smiled that small, knowing smile she'd been giving him all evening. He thought it was the most sensual thing he had ever seen. He smirked back at her, taking the jar gently from her hands and palming some of the cream. Her eyes followed him in the mirror as he dropped to one knee on the floor to accommodate her as he smoothed the fragrant substance over her leg himself. He took his time, rubbing and kneading slowly, with great care. When he was done, he motioned for her to give him the other leg, which she did. He laid it across his knee and smoothed his hand over it.

"You don't need this, you know," he said, motioning to the cream. "Your skin is as soft as silk without it."

"Hmmm," she purred. "But it smells so good."

He nodded his assent, then spread the cream as he had with the other leg. She sighed at his attentions. Finishing with that leg, he knelt there kneading her calves softly for a moment. He looked directly in her eyes as he did this, and she looked unflinchingly back at him.

Coming to an abrupt decision, he lifted her up and put her down on the vanity table so quickly she gasped. She looked at him with wide eyes as he pushed the towel up above her waist and knelt to kiss the inside of her trembling thigh. She let out a soft, helpless sigh which transformed into an incredulous gasp as suddenly his head was between her legs.

She looked down and couldn't believe what she saw. Mr. Darcy's head was indeed between her legs, his large hands holding her hips in place as his head dipped and bobbed! She felt his tongue snaking in and out of her in time with his head movements. The sensation was incredible. Mesmerized, she couldn't look away, watching the erotic sight of him giving her more pleasure than she had ever realized was possible.

He continued to move his tongue, sometimes fast, sometimes in slow, agonizing drags that left her panting. When he began to suck at her too, she grasped at his hair firmly and softly moaned. He continued to work, occasionally glancing up at her to gauge the effect with satisfaction. When her panting increased to a nearly panicked pace, he stopped. She looked angrily at him, her mind too dumb with ecstasy to know anything but that he should not stop, _ever_!

Her ire was extinguished, though, when he picked her up again and carried her to the bed. There he promptly removed and discarded the towel. Settling her naked form astride him, he began to grind into her. She moaned at feeling his arousal through his breeches, pressing hard against the place she most needed him. Instinctually, she moved her hips with his. He groaned, grasping at her hair and using it to pull her head to the side so he could pepper her delicate neck with kisses. They continued to grind into each other, creating blissful, heart-stopping sensations.

"Oh yes, Lizzie," he moaned. "Oh, God, yes."

As he ground harder into her, clutching at her buttocks to pull her tighter and tighter against him, she did the same. Her whimpers increased until he was frantic with excitement, and when she found her release he followed suit. She sat on top of him, breathing hard and clinging to him, absolutely senseless. After a time, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her passionately before releasing her.

"I must go ere we are discovered. I should not like to take any chances."

She smiled wickedly at him. "You mean you do not wish for anyone to know what a wanton your fiancée is?"

He smiled and licked her lips. "No, my love. That knowledge is for me, and me alone."

Removing himself gently from beneath her, he opened her door and peeked out. Seeing it was safe, he turned to her with a devastating smile. "Goodnight, my lovely future wife."

She stretched lazily on her side atop the bed, looking like the cat that got into the cream. "And goodnight to you, my handsome future husband. I look forward to doing this again with you in a few weeks."

"Oh, Lizzy," he said, suddenly serious, "I plan on doing _so_ much more than this to you then." With that and a wink, he left the room.

Three weeks later, in the Darcy townhouse, he showed her exactly how much _more_ he had meant.

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Hope you enjoyed! Please review!


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